


That Look

by virusq



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Droids are better than people, F/F, Gen, Multi, Naming Stormtroopers, No Sex, People need reset buttons, Polyamory, kmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 18:04:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virusq/pseuds/virusq
Summary: Jessika Pava rescues half a squad of First Order Stormtroopers. With Poe and Finn as their role models, the Stormtroopers develop an intense interest in their heroine. This is how Jessika discovers and deals with her unexpected following.





	That Look

It’s a bird. No, a ship. No, it’s boredom and starvation playing tricks on Jessika Pava’s eyes.

She squints at the speck on her quadnocs.

No, wait. It’s a ship. It’s really _a ship_.

Refusing to put down her optics, Jess reaches behind her station and slaps her knuckles against the back of Wexley’s arm.

“What?” He turns to see what she’s spotting, and doesn’t need the gear to see the smoke trail the ship’s streaked across the sky. He scans the sky while she watches the crash. “Where’s their escort?”

“I don’t…” Jess subconsciously leans toward her visual and reminds herself to breathe, caught up in the excitement. “I don’t see one.”

“There has to be.” He frowns. “Two squads on the ground; two squads in the sky. It’s _regulation_.”

“Regu-- what?” Jess pries the quadnocs from her face to stare incredulously at her wingman. He looks entirely too serious for the statement. “What part of crash landing on a backwater planet is regulation?”

“Well, it’s an AAL. It’s valuable. It holds a pilot, a gunner, and two squads.” Snap pauses, flustered. She’s fixing him with _the look_. The one that reminds him he’s twice her age and infinitely less flexible. “It’s … a resource drain and precision tactics … wouldn’t just --”

She continues to stare: partially because she’s curious where this line of nerd bullshit is headed; but mostly because she enjoys watching the giant man squirm.

“-- Wouldn’t just …” The lecture withers under her scrutiny. “Maybe they’re lost?”

“Or, maybe,” Her lips quirk into a smile as her eyes light up. “Maybe … they’re _defectors_.”

“Oh. Oh, no.” Snap protests, heading off her lust for adventure with a definitive gesture. “Testor, _no_.”

Her smile brightens, like too-hot turbolasers ready to fire. “Call it in.”

“There is _no_ way we’re confronting two squadrons of stormtroopers.” There is no way. Logically. He’s run the numbers. Twice. It’s the two of them against --

“You’re right.” She slings her carbine over her shoulder, and nods emphatically. “We’re just calling it in.”

Mechanically, he radios their report to command. And then, mechanically, he curses.

She’s already started trekking toward the downed craft. 

+

It’s a bad idea.

It’s a really bad idea.

Really, what are the odds of an AAL dropping out of the sky on your watch? 

Don’t answer that.

They pass bits of still-hot wreckage on their way to the clearing where the transport’s downed. It appears to be topside-down and secured at a striking angle by the superheated mud it splashed into.

Electronics crackle as they near the wreckage, guns drawn, curiosity vibrating between them. If there was backup, they’d have seen it during the hike. If there were survivors, there’d be … survivors.

Briefly, Jess worries that there aren’t any survivors, and feels her stomach clench at the thought.

Snap breaks her train of thought by signalling her into position to the left of the ramp’s security door, or what’s left of it. He presses himself against the right side of the entrance, places a blast device against the hatch, and gestures a five count.

Jess raises her carbine and slows her breathing.

Snap’s small device pops, and they both train their blasters into the doorway as it shudders open. Smoke pours out, and the air smells like burnt plastine and flesh.

“We’re armed. You’re surrounded. Surrender and you’ll be given due process!” Snap bellows into the sparking darkness, which is a respectably terrifying visual in itself.

Nothing happens.

_Beat._

He shoots Jess _the look_. The one that says: _I’m a rocket scientist, not an infiltrator._

And her pursed lips return the sentiment: _I fix droids, not people._

He sags, just perceptibly, in disbelief. _This was your idea._

Her eyebrows do a dance that matches her twitchy fingers. _And?_

A rasping cough breaks their silent conference. Both weapons jolt toward the sound.

They both peer into the darkness, keyed to any movement. And a small voice croaks.

“Help.”

+

Jess was right, and the squad will never live it down. 

It wasn’t a trap, and there weren’t twenty armed and vicious soldiers; there were five. Five terrified young stowaways, tear streaked and swimming in their too-large armor. Two of them concocted the idea, two of them were honor-bound to follow their brothers, and one of them just so happened to be a pilot. All of them were in desperate need of fresh air and new clothes after the stunt they pulled.

A smaller, cheaper Resistance transport arrives shortly after Snap and Jess finish extracting the young hostages from their grand scheme. Dazed, embarrassed, and -- what the hell were they staring at? -- dressed down, the young men (and woman!) are transferred to an outpost for processing.

Jess is also, of course, dressed down for her rash actions. For abandoning her post. For engaging hostiles before reinforcements could arrive. For endangering her squad. For not being nearly as adorable as Finn.

Um, maybe not that last part? It’s so hard to focus on Commander Dameron’s ‘stay focused, stay alive’ speech when that adorable holo of Poe and Finn is visible on his desk. The display makes a statement, and it sounds a lot like: “I’m mister commanding badass officer, and what I say is law, and look at my adorable boyfriend, mwa mwa mwa.”

“Testor?”

Jess startles as Poe’s hands squeeze her shoulders. He fixes her with _the look_ : the one that says: _No really, I need you **alive**. Please._ And the realization of what _could_ have resulted from her actions hits her like a blast furnace. She _could_ have been killed. She could have gotten _Snap_ killed. She could have _destroyed_ Karé with that scene. She could have destroyed the _squadron_. She _could_ have compromised the entire base.

“Sorry, sir.” Her eyes dart to the floor in shame. “Yes, sir.”

Poe’s head bobs to regain eye contact, and once his target is locked, he fixes her with a painfully sympathetic expression. “Are you okay, Jess?”

Jess almost loses it, staring into those big brown eyes. The warmth that radiates from them makes the whole world fuzzy around the edges. Poe’s like that; making worlds melt when he turns that super-powered beam of sheer presence toward you. It’s not just her; she’s seen that gaze melt _General Organa_. The man’s a weapon of mass distraction.

She squares her jaw and nods once, admonished and focused.

“Good.” He states simply, a smile creeping back into the creases at his eyes.

And just like that, he’s wrapped around her in a wampa hug. Her cheek presses into his jacket, and she’s pretty sure he’s never going to let her go. “I mean it,” he mumbles into her hair. “No dying. That’s an _order_.”

“Ysshr.” She squeaks.

+

Jessika’s redress for her actions is to help babysit the new hostages. 

Okay, so they’re adorable baby death machines with perfect smiles and perfect abs, but they’re still hostages. _Seriously, how are they so cute?_

When she arrives three minutes late for their second week of PT, Finn gives her _the look_. The one that says: _Man, I trusted you. You’re supposed to show up on time; I’m supposed to look authoritative. I **T R U S T E D** Y O U._ The raised eyebrow punctuates each letter of the sentiment.

She winces. PT is going to be extra brutal with a frustrated Finn leading the charge.

One of the troopers rescues her from the accusing stare with a crisp salute. “Sir! Good morning, sir!”

“That’s cute.” Jessika states, gesturing at the display. “They’ve adopted you as their commanding officer.”

This time, Finn’s the one bubbling with excitement about a really bad idea. He giggles.

Jess’s eyebrows quirk in concern. “What?”

Finn leans in closer to hint at the conspiracy. “They’ve already greeted me.”

Jessika steals a quick glance at the array of attentive cadets, then whips a hand up to shield her whispers from potential lip-reading. “What does that mean?”

Finn flashes her a thousand-watt smile. “They’ve adopted _you_ as their commanding officer.”

Jessika stares at Finn as she absorbs the comment. She rolls the concept around in her mind. She’s not a _commanding_ officer; she’s not anyone’s officer. Finn’s the trooper. Finn’s … beaming at her like an idiot.

The soldiers all stand, patiently awaiting her every command. They’re all bright, eager, and -- _gosh, what is that goofy expression?_ \-- waiting for her _every command_.

She’d kill for one of Snap’s nerdy lectures right about now.

+

The hostages are more like house-guests under Poe and Finn’s regime. They have their own (secured) quarters, they attend (secured) drills, and they attend mess (secured) with the rest of the Resistance. Finn even insists on referring to them as ‘cadets’ instead of ‘stormies’.

Jessika catches General Organa giving Commander Dameron _the look_. It’s the one that says: _If any one of these children endanger my babies, I will personally scold them. Permanently._ And it may be the only time she’s ever seen Poe even a little bit intimidated. His answering gesture is the one that says: _Yes, mom._

After that exchange, Jess mentally relaxes a bit regarding the whole scenario; it’s childish to remain anxious of the stormtroopers if both General Organa and Commander Dameron are taking responsibility for their actions. Maybe they really are defectors. Maybe they’re _her_ defectors.

At the squadron’s next visit to the mess hall, Jessika carefully positions herself three tables away from the stormtroopers and avoids eye contact. She’s been quietly assessing each cadet for personality traits and committing their features to memory; trying to compile the information into something resembling human interaction. The act requires a lot of silence and distant observation on her part.

Which, naturally, means Poe beelines for the seat directly adjacent to her. He has a sixth sense for detecting her desire for isolation. 

He smiles. “How are the ducklings?”

“Ducklings, sir?” She asks, mid forkfull.

“The cadets.” He waves Finn over to their bench for outsiders, which has quickly evolved into the cool kids’ table. “Finn says they’ve taken to you. Have they picked out real names yet?”

Jessika gulps, mentally stricken by the fact that she’s been referring to them by their First Order squad designations like droids. Droids are referred to by their model names. Occasionally, droids are even _named_ after their model names. Has she been committing a social faux-pas this entire time? _Kriff._

Finn rescues her from the conversation. “We were thinking ‘Foolie’ for FO-0175 and GM-0404 has been smitten with ‘Grump’, but I think he’s more of a ‘Greg’.”

Jessika frowns. “I’d go with something more like ‘Nofo’, you know -- ‘Files not found’...”

Poe slaps the table. “I like it! Would he like it?”

“No.” Jess admits to her reconstituted MREs. “I mean, I haven’t asked.”

“Well, you should.” Poe slaps her on the back with a firm encompassing pat. “And if he doesn’t take it, I’ll take it. ‘Commander Nofo Dameron’ has a ring to it, don’t you think?”

Finn laughs, and Jessika can’t help but crack a smile.

“Talk to them, Testor,” Poe encourages, with a look that suggests utmost faith in her abilities. “I think they’re ready for assignments, but it’s up to you. Once you clear them, we can put them to use.”

The weight of the future of the Resistance is just enough to smash her levity into her mental shields and bring her crashing back to reality. “Yes, sir.”

+

In an effort to commune with her ducklings, Jessika requests their assistance for routine vehicle maintenance. It’s an excuse, really: every pilot takes personal pride in the cleanliness and upkeep of their ships, and she’s personally seen to half of the astromechs on the base, but it’s a familiar territory for her excursion into social interaction.

They arrive five minutes early and stand straight as sabers in a neatly formed line. Their unfocused stares are frankly unnerving. 

“At ease,” she says, straightening her posture because she’s pretty sure that’s an order.

Their attentions shift from somewhere off toward Corellia and affix directly at her eyeline. It does not help with her mounting anxiety. She wants them to relax. To let loose. To talk to her like people instead of adorable baby death machines.

“No, more ease.”

In unison, their shoulders sag just noticeably and their stances shift uncomfortably. It’s almost as if they’re just as nervous about relaxing as she is about leading.

She sighs and gives them _the look_ : The one that says communicating with humans would be easier if everyone had reset buttons.

“I need help,” Jess starts, eliciting a variety of excitement from the cadets. “I need to run a diagnosis on the rest of these ships and make sure their astromechs are ready to go; have any of you worked with snubfighters before?”

FO-0175, the tall man with broad shoulders, raises his hand. She’s pretty sure the FO designation indicates he’s from the flight deck, but she’s surprised to see FN-2410, the short one with curly hair, raise his hand. 

“Wizard!” Jessika claps her hands in excitement. “How about droids?”

FN-2464 and FN-2415, the dark skinned woman with the perfect nose, both raise their hands. The display leaves GM-0404, the stout one with the grumpy demeanor, frowning.

Jessika realizes which member of her flock has not raised her hand and giggles. This manages to raise an eyebrow. FN-2464 clears his throat. “Ma’am?”

“I mentioned to the commander that GM-0404’s designation reminds me of a data return error and, well.” Jess weighs 0404’s dismay and reconsiders her words. “I suggested that I thought we could call him ‘Nofo’ based on the --”

The magic word has been uttered, Jess discovers. All of the cadets spring into life, suddenly brimming with enthusiasm and warmth. 0404’s disposition makes a complete about-face. “You’ve named me,” he prods excitedly.

FO-0175 interjects next: “What about Fifteen and Thirds?”

“Do you have names for the rest of us?” FN-2410 finishes.

Jessika takes an involuntary step back, shocked by the wave of questions. She feels around behind her for the support of a bench and stammers. The words pour over her like alarms and whistles: out of sync and disorienting.

“Stand down,” FN-2415 commands, noting her superior officer’s distress. “One at a time.”

GM-0404 beams in delight at his closest companion. “I like ‘Nofo’.”

“Jealous,” FN-2464 remarks, slugging the newly dubbed cadet in the arm.

FN-2415 rolls her eyes. “We have orders; we should act on them.”

“No, wait,” Jess regains her ground and stops the cadets from leaving. This is exactly the kind of interaction that Poe was suggesting, right? Right. She shakes her head to clear it. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to impose. Finn said you had already begun choosing names for yourselves.”

“No. No!” FN-2464 waves emphatically, “My name’s stupid. I want yours.”

“But, I --”

“Roger.” FN-2015 holds out her hand, graceful and strong. “My name’s Roger, sir.”

Jessika takes the muscular woman’s hand and shakes it, smitten by the show of confidence. “Roger. It’s nice to meet you, Roger. Why ‘Roger’?”

Roger smiles, the lines around her eyes smiling though her lips remain serious. “It’s strong. Thoughtful. I like it.”

“It’s because of the battle droids,” FO-0175 mutters with a sneer. “She knows you like droids. Come on. Name me next.”

Roger shoots FO-0175 an icy battery of body language.

“Foolie,” Jess blurts before she can think of anything better to say. “Finn said you were considering the name ‘Foolie’. I think it sounds cute.”

She’s pretty sure the wailing that Foolie emits as a result of the declaration is a positive response, although she’s still convinced this conversation would go more smoothly if it involved reset buttons.

Jess points to FN-2464. “I don’t think ‘Thirds’ is stupid.”

“It is,” the chorus chimes.

“But I like the name ‘Beta’.” FN-2464 contemplates the name and Jess continues, “It’s the fours. They remind me of alephs, and if you were droid, I’d call you ‘Beta’.”

“Deal.” Beta confirms.

“And ‘Spike’,” Jessika dubs the last cadet. She blushes, “No reason, really. It’s another splicer word that doubles as a petname.”

Spike grins at her, lips curling around an impressive set of teeth. “Spike. Sounds vicious. Perfect.”

“Vicious?” Her eyes widen at the phrasing. She starts, realizing she’s just named four fully grown humans as if they’re pet projects, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I meant to get to know you all better before naming you. I mean, you’re people, and --”

“And we’re all very appreciative of your consideration,” Roger finishes, interrupting Jessika’s attempt to sabotage the moment. “Foolie and Spike can assist with ship diagnostics, and Nofo will be most useful with ammunition and thrusters -- he’s an artillery specialist.”

“Yes,” Jessika agrees, happy to have someone to share the burden of command with. “And Beta and yourself can assist with astromech preparation?”

Roger snaps her superior officer a crisp salute. “Roger, roger.”

Jessika almost falls over from laughter.

+

The cadets perform their duties admirably. They settle into their routines and seem much more lively with their new monikers. Jessika’s _almost_ okay with the idea of them being friendlies instead of cadets or stormies -- until they follow her into the sanisteam after PT.

It’s not that co-ed hygienics are a new thing to Jessika; the sight of free range genitalia lost its shock value the week Snap and Poe decided to square off in an epic karaoke battle in the sanisteam (the acoustics were too good to pass up, Poe insists). 

No. Flesh doesn’t bother Jessika; it’s the sheer casual gait of all five perfect soldiers following her into the lockers. And the precise way they mimic her moves. And the way they _study_ her every muscle contraction. And the way their bodies are sculpted. And their movements _ripple_ across their lean bodies. And their eagerness to simply be around _her_.

And -- _oh sithspit_ \-- she named them. This isn’t a chain of command, it’s a be-damned courting _catastrophe_.

In her fluster, she soaps her hair and shampoos her body. She only realizes it when she’s scrambling for running water to rinse her eyes out. Frantically, she flails for a nozzle and rinses the suds from her eyes. She reaches for a towel and one of the soldiers -- _Beta_ \-- hands her a fresh one.

Jessika thanks the gorgeous man hastily and flees.

+

When she next sees Karé, Jessika gives her _the look_ : the one that says she has a bogie on her wing that she’s desperately trying to shake. Given that it’s mid-day and Snap hasn’t broken out the jet juice, Karé deduces the situation immediately.

“Have them reassigned.” The bronze woman explains, “They’re adults. Functioning members of society, even. Tell Poe they’re ready.”

“What if they’re not?” Jess objects. “What if I’m not ready and I exile them to the abyss and they all die because they weren’t given real leadership?”

“Testor,” Karé plants her hands on Jessika’s shoulders and looks her square the the eyes, “You’re not that hot.”

Jess huffs. “Thanks.”

Karé shrugs unhelpfully. “You could always give it a shot.” 

“What?”

“Just grab one and snog it.”

Jessika gapes. “Karé, _no_.”

The blonde woman mentally weighs the cadets, dialing in on Jessika’s horror. “The grumpy one. He’ll do. He’s good with big guns and _thrusters_.”

“No!”

“Okay,” she relents. “Then put on your big girl pants and tell them you’re not ready to start a family. You’re not into squad-wives.”

 _Squad wives?_ Jess stares at her companion like she’s grown a second head. “I don’t know you. I really don’t know you.”

“They’re ready, Testor.” Karé states, in all seriousness. “Tell Poe they’re ready.”

+

It’s easy to dodge the flock but when they start to drift into specialties, Jess can’t avoid them. She smiles, and nods, and maintains an air of professionalism, but the affection is overwhelming. First it’s notes, then it’s gifts, and then one of them gets brave and writes her a song. They train a BB unit to sing it to her. That’s when she tells Poe they’re ready.

And he already knows. Poe knows everything; he’s their commander. He already has new assignments for them. He knew she would train them well and had faith in her all along, even if she didn’t believe in herself. 

“But you need to see it through and send them off,” he explains, one final step in the procedure. “You don’t have to do it alone; take Finn or Snap, they’re happy to stand back and pretend they’re intimidating.”

“No,” Jess admits to herself as much as anyone, “I need to do this. I need to break it off.”

“Only if you want to.”

Did she want to?

+

We can’t be a thing.

_We can’t be a thing._

Jess rehearses the line in her mind using a syntax pattern. If you encounter a duckling, then tell them you can’t be a thing. Else, keep moving.

The command stalls when she encounters Roger and Spike on her way to parts storage. They’re dressed in work gear: Spike’s covered in grease and Roger’s immaculate, she’s just that good.

They salute, Roger a degree colder than usual. “Sir.” 

“Roger, I --” Jess is at a loss for words. Roger’s so beautiful. Maybe she’s making the wrong decision. Maybe Karé is right. Maybe --

“We have been reassigned,” Roger continues. “Have you been dissatisfied with our performance?”

“No!” Jess blurts, “We can’t be a thing.”

Spike sags, crestfallen. “It’s someone else. You’ve chosen a favorite.”

“No. No favorites! I love you all. I just --”

It’s a bit of a blur; maybe ‘love’ was the wrong word to use. Maybe it wasn’t. Roger takes Jessika’s hand and sweeps her into a waltz-like embrace, one hand supporting her back the other twined in her fingers. Their bodies press gently but firmly together, warmth seeping through the crackling fabric of their jumpsuits, and Jess can feel her face burning with -- _what **is** that goofy feeling?_ \-- with embarrassment, she decides.

But the kiss is _perfect_. Roger’s lips are full and soft, her face is round and strong, her heartbeat is confident. Her eyes are closed to absorb the moment, and Jess just starts to sink into the feeling when she realizes her own eyes are open and growing wider.

She reluctantly breaks away, pressing her free hand into Roger’s sternum for distance. “We can’t be a thing,” she repeats, so quietly she’s not sure she’s said it.

Roger nods, briskly, but she’s obviously flustered. “My apologies. I thought we had something. I have overstepped my bounds.”

Jessika recompiles her thoughts and lets them process a moment before voicing her opinion. “You are all wonderful. You’re perfect. I’m not ready for this. I can’t be a leader and a lover.”

Spike bites his lip, almost pleading. “It works for Commander Dameron and Finn.”

“It does! And they’re wonderful together,” Jess hesitates, grasping for the right words. That kiss was really, _really_ convincing. “But you’re a squadron: a squadron that has already been reduced in half from alternate desires. Finn and Poe are two people; _two people_. And we’re _six_. I’m not ready for that.”

Spike starts to argue, but Jess heads him off. “And I _won’t_ pick a favorite.”

Jessika probably could. She could run away with Roger. She could open herself up to loving any of them, really. But they’re strongest as a group, a _family_ , and she wouldn’t be a good leader if she shattered that dynamic for her own intentions. We can’t be a thing. Not now.

“I understand,” Roger states, cool as parasteel. “We’ll relay your decision to the squad. And sir,” She presses her hands into Jessika’s, and captures her gaze. Roger gives her _the look_. The one that says: _We still love you, even when you make terrible decisions_. “When you’re ready, allow yourself to visit us. You’re family.”

Jessika nods, biting her lip. “Roger … Roger.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the TFA Kmeme, using the prompt:
> 
> _"Jess outdoes Poe when she gets a whole FIVE stormtroopers to defect and imprint on her like adorable baby ducks. But they seem to be using Poe and Finn as models for how normal behavior between defected stormtroopers and their hero pilots are supposed to act, and Jess is getting a lot more shameless affection than she knows what to do with."_
> 
> I love my pilot babies. Thank you for prompting this, anon. And thank you to @aicosu for helping me name my adorable baby death machines.


End file.
